It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. " "But I've got to go!" insisted Rollo, in perfectly understandable dog-talk. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. She will take me in until I can make some plans. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave.
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